1964
by MLynnBloom
Summary: (one-shot)A look on twenty years before 1984 through the eyes of a child when Big Brother was just getting started… (somewhat useless and random, but just shows the limitations of freedom the Party's power brought)


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Summary: A look on twenty years before 1984 through the eyes of a child when Big Brother was just getting started…

Author's Note: This is just a short random fiction in the standpoint of a made-up character during the first years of the Party's reinforcement. Everything from _1984_ is Mr. Orwell's. Thanks for R&Ring!

- . - . - . -

Summer was his favorite season. The pale blue curtains in the room were blowing in the refreshing breeze that summer sporadically brought. That's why he loved it. For the sunshine and wind.

It was Thursday. Father always came home late on Thursdays and mother said it was because his job needed him later on some days and that he was an important man. But he didn't think so. He always smelled like gin on Thursdays.

His baby brother Peter sat squealing in the corner, rolling his Hindenburg model back and forth, back and forth, and occasionally bent down to suck and drool on it. Peter had grown a lot in the last couple of months, muttering made-up syllables, but he still had that dumb look in his eyes. A few weeks back, he had tried to teach Peter about what he read in history books about the Hinderburg and how it crashed, but his mother sent him to his room. Later that night, father told him a story about how old books used to lie and that it was really Big Brother who had ordered the zeppelin to be shot down because it was filled with enemies. He didn't understand why books would lie to him, but he never asked.

A shrill buzz passed by his ear and he looked down to his arm where a mosquito sat. He watched it suck out his blood before attempting to slap it. It flew off towards the window and he followed.

Rodney stood by the curtains watching the lazy days go by his window like he had done for weeks. A banner of Big Brother stared back with his, what mother called "kind", dark eyes and stared right into the room. The eyes looked empty to him.

He remembered once at school there was a boy in his class who said he wanted to meet Big Brother. Another boy called him stupid and told him that he wasn't real. The next day, a girl took his empty seat and the boy never came back. It was only a year ago, but he couldn't even think of his name…

"Rodney!"

His mother's hand grasped his shoulder and pulled him away from his view out the window. Her face was deep red and sweating. She must be making dinner over the stove already. Her voice was sweetly stern, "What did I tell you about humming?"

Rodney didn't even realize he was doing so but replied monotonously, "That I'm not to do it anymore… or around the telescreens, anyway."

"No. You must not do it at all, you understand now?" He could tell his mother was blushing past her red, toiled face as the faint hum of the telescreen droned on behind them. Rodney pouted as best he could like he had seen Peter do, but his mother said nothing more and left. Rodney threw himself onto the couch. It wasn't fair. Telescreens ruined everything. He hated them, hated them ever since they had them installed three years ago. It was like they didn't want you to do stuff secretly anymore, or something. Rodney had secrets he wanted to keep to himself; that's why he wished he could at least unplug them at times.

He sat bored and alone on the couch as Peter continued to smash up and dribble on his toys. Father wouldn't be home for another hour and even when he got home, he would be too tired to play with him. He looked over to the kitchen, to Peter, and finally over at the telescreen facing Peter. Without a sound, he stuck over behind the couch.

It was dark and smelled like urine from their cat they had before the Party ordered pets weren't allowed in the Victory Mansions. But he didn't care. This was his corner. His world. A place where telescreens couldn't see you and Big Brother couldn't watch you with his cold eyes.

He sat there for a silent moment enjoying his solitude. He stuck his finger into a hole in the couch and took out a four coins. It was the oldest thing he ever had; he had traded his playing cards for them in the playground years before. They were coins the Party didn't issue anymore. Made of _real_ copper and silver with years like 1926 or 1953 printed on them. Now, the coins are produced of scrap metal with Big Brother and the Party slogans boldly engraved on them: WAR IS PEACE, FREEDOM IS SLAVERY, IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH.

He tucked his coins away after delicately rubbing the smooth surfaces and stuck his hand under the couch. He held his breath and in his daring move he pulled out a small kite. He had began piecing it together months and months ago whenever he had the chance to be alone, and finally two weeks ago he had completed it from wire hangers, old sheets, and small planks of wood he picked up off the streets. All it needed was a tail.

He held it as if it was made out of glass. This was it--- _his_ secret against Big Brother. The thrill of having such a secret made his heart pound. It was perfect. Just like one he used to have.

Someday, he would take it out. Maybe just into the hallways. He ran his plan over his mind: he would pretend to be sick, and when everyone else went out to watch the prisoners being hanged, he would run down the halls with his kite. _His _secret.

"Rabb-da."

Rodney snapped up from his thoughts. Little Peter had crawled over and was peeking through a crack between the wall and the couch. He tried reaching for the kite but Rodney pulled away panicked.

"No. _No!_ Go away, Pete! Stop—stop now!" Rodney whispered harshly and stuck the kite under the couch.

He began to wail and kick and Rodney hushed him to shut up, but soon his mother's footsteps were heard. Rodney curled up into the shadowy corner.

"Love, what's the matter? What did you lose?" His mother's voice was only inches away from the couch. Peter continued to stick his fingers through the crack, observing Rodney in his tight, anxious crouch with wet, stupid baby eyes.

"There?" Mother spoke. Rodney started to get up. He would just tell her that he was playing a game with Peter. Great. It would work. But his mother already had pulled the couch away.

"Rodney?" What on earth---?" She began but gasped. The kite was revealed. His hidden world was now known and shattered.

Mother stood frozen as she stared down at the kite, and then up into Rodney's guilty eyes. Quickly, she ran over to the telescreen and reluctantly turned it away. Immediately, a woman's cold voice began to shout:

"Slavik! 726 Slavik K, turn your telescreen around immediately!"

His mother's eyes were terrified. They always had been ever since the creation of the Party. "Rodney, you know this isn't allowed! Why can't you understand that this will get mommy and daddy in trouble!"

"---Katherine J. Slavik, I repeat! Turn your telescreen around!"

Peter was bawling as the telescreen persisted to command orders. His mother reached down and grabbed the kite.

"No, Mama, no! You can't---!" Rodney cried.

"No, Rodney, _you_ can't," his mother whispered harshly, "These are changing times. You must live with the rules to avoid trouble. You are never to make _anything like this_ again!"

Rodney sobbed and pleaded as his mother walked over to the fireplace. She started a fire and within seconds it began to burn rapidly.

"Mama, don't!"

"Go to your room now."

"No! Why can't things be like they used to be! I hate it! We used to have more food and fun, and the books never used to lie to you!"

"_Rodney!_"

"It's true! Oceania wasn't fighting Eastasia five years ago! Big Brother didn't invent telegrams or typewriters or---"

"_Mrs. Slavik!_ If you don't turn this telescreen around right now, our forces will take immediate action and will be positioned in your living quarters, do you understand?"

At that, Rodney ran to his room, not bearing to watch his mother throw his kite into the fire. He slammed the door.

The telescreen stop shouting. Peter kept crying. The fire crackled and snapped distantly. And Rodney sobbed.

There were no more secrets, possessions, or places of his own. Swallowed into those callous, black holes that served as the eyes of Big Brother. They were all gone, save for his coins. Yes, he still had those.

Big Brother's face was plastered outside his small window, staring silently. Rodney threw his last large marble hatefully at it, but the glass did not break. It never would.

- . - . - . -

It was two thirty-six in the morning when Rodney dared to step out of his room. His father's shoes were by the door and Peter's toys lay in a pile in the corner. The couch was placed against the wall and his corner was replaced with a small table.

Rodney tiptoed through the room behind the humming telescreen. The fireplace was black and dead. He rubbed the remaining ashes of his kite between his fingers and moved on.

He stood in front of the couch. In the back of his mind, he knew it. He already knew it… but he had to know for sure.

He pulled the couch quietly away from the wall inch by inch, and in the dark he ran his fingers down the back of the couch. He found the frayed hole and stuck his fingers through---

"Rodney Slavic, shouldn't you be in bed at this hour?"

It was the telescreen. Rodney turned around emotionless and nodded.

"Right. Now be a good child and adjust that couch."

Rodney listened, walked straight back into his room, and closed the door. Big Brother continued to watch him. He opened his fists and they were as empty as the hole in the couch.


End file.
